


Prose rants

by monoca98



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Depression, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Prose Poem, References to Depression, Suicide, other specified dissociative disorder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-19 22:08:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17609924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monoca98/pseuds/monoca98
Summary: I rant about things in a long prose form. It's just my feelings in a prose form with a lot of poetry involved.





	1. I think about my parents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rant about my feelings towards my parents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! there's mentions of emotional abuse in here. i'm not claiming to know it all, i say that i know "life's secrets" because i figured out things that you would have figured out later in life according to some people. all my pieces are really subjective so take it with a grain of salt yeah?

At the humble age of 18, I have had most of life’s secrets delivered to my doorstep a couple of years too early, an express parcel I didn’t ask for. Unboxing it all was a good four year process and even now I find bits and bobs that I haven’t fully unravelled like a horrible scrap pop up book. And it was one fine day like any other that I have devoted myself to opening another weird mystery the box had given me that I realised a secret that pushed a dilemma towards me rather rudely and unexpectedly. A dilemma which after many days, I still haven’t come to a set conclusion. One that forced me to give an ending or a final statement, despite my hatred for endings. One that relates strongly to my roots, my parents. While at first glance, they seemed like the perfect one, unlimited freedom, loyalty, support and a wish for my genuine happiness, there lies fault lines that run so deep I cannot even begin to fathom that both were just two sides of the same coin. With freedom came neglect, with support came a lack of understanding to certain topics, with happiness came a host of emotionally damaging practices that made me shut up about it entirely. It was years later that I was able to look at the other side of the coin and get a comprehension of the idea. that was the secret that I had unravelled, and wish mistakes come consequences, comes the question of forgiveness. One that I can’t quite complete, if it weren’t for the ticking reality that they didn’t have an eternity on this planet. It begs the question from me, do I forgive their mistakes? Let it be? To what extent? Do I let them burn? And this topic wasn’t even new to me, I had told them about it to be met with their side of regret and guilt rather than them outright accepting that I too, had been extremely hurt by it. I have never been one to be communicative of my feelings as they were always far too intense and I kept them caged within my ribs until they carve a path out from my torso. I had recognised that they were people and were trying to do their best which they had greatly succeeded in some areas — but failing miserably in some. Horribly. I also understood that I had the right to be hurt, and I have bee hurt. Hurt to the point I don’t think I can walk without a life support machine. Its useless to stay mad forever, even my fuel of anger has a limit and it has burnt out leaving me to consider in the dark. I still can’t seem to come to a conclusion, if I should have or should forgive them. I’ve become indifferent to what they have done as I recognise the lack of ill will but it still makes me cough up blood understanding that they had both helped and harmed me. To that I say that I will never be able to truly forgive them as long as I feel the effects of pain. I’m not angry at their actions but more as them as a person. I still don’t understand how or why they would have thought that they were fit to become parents. People make mistakes and that is normal, but repeated mistakes hurting someone is just stupid, and I still am mad about having to bear the brunt of that stupidity. So, what’s my final answer to this dilemma? Nothing. Forgiving them is a task I don’t wish to fully complete, it is stupid to make me punish myself to forgive someone who had hurt me badly. Being angry would make me burn up, burn myself in the process. A happy middle ground known as a the void where I’m able to see both sides of the coin and know they’d hurt me while not fully forgiving their actions, is what I think ill pick for now. It’s as close to an ending as I can get without ruining the rest of their days. i now see that they have hurt me, greatly as evident from this piece and that they have no intention of helping me heal from it. An eye for an eye, I wouldn’t have to forgive them entirely either. I acknowledge their actions, and I see where they’re coming from,but I will also accept the fact that they should have never done that. They are to live with their denial and idiocy, a punishment fit for them as they live out the rest of their days unknowing of the simple wisdoms of this world. Truly, having only their eyes half opened, and I think that that is the worst retribution that they could have. A lack of closure on my end and their own stupidity.


	2. I want a reply

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i rant about why my anxiety sucks when i wanna talk to people

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey so! this talks about my unhealthy behaviour of wanting people to reply, but i can control it, so don't worry! i really like talking to people, so don't get scared away from this. i'm sorry if it makes you uncomfortable.

reminder: improvise adapt overcome  
  
I wish you would reply me. Every time I see a small hope form my heart leaps and crashes into spikes because it isn’t you. So I have taken the liberty to smash my heart and expectations onto the spikes itself, permanently impaled there, only to throb and allow what little remaining blood to drip onto the decaying spike when a fragment of hope is found. My brain won’t rest and constantly writes letters to you, and you alone. I have not seen it since the letters sliding out of the doorway has increased. I don’t question it. I wish I could stop, and have the courage to tell my brain that it isn’t anyone’s fault that my heart leaps to space only to throw itself back down, that it isn’t my brains fault for wanting to know more. Heavily misunderstood is how I see it. But no one else will, so I let it happen. thoughout it all I will not say a thing, as long as you are happy and comfortable, I will learn to mutilate my tongue and wait, and adapt, and accommodate, because I have come to respect other’s ways too much. Perhaps thats ok with me. And ill leave it be, forever absent in knowing how it feels like to be done in the same. People have tried, but I know it isn’t what I need but I’ll leave it be. Ill leave it all be, after all, I didn’t need it. I can live without it.


	3. Facing my ideas of death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i talk about my ideas towards death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, here i think and explore why i might be scared of living or why i like death so much, there's mentions of suicide here too or at least notions of it, so be careful!

Every time reality seeps slowly into my tea that drifts it’s way to my lips and into my body, I cannot help but remember the incoherence of life. The pieces of puzzles of events that had once happened to me that I had left in the corner of the gigantic puzzle board, that I had forgotten and only glanced upon in passing. I am reminded of the endless sentiments that flood my mind. It makes me crave a closure, and an ending which I have never quite received and convinced myself to hate. Which I do. I hate endings. It means something is over and can never truly repeat itself again, which I’m oddly okay with. It’s the idea that I have to relive it in my head or to comfort others that irks me the most. So I look forward without missing a beat to my own ending. An ending where I do not need to think of such responsibilities anymore, and I understand why it scares others. But dying is simply the act of not existing, it doesn’t mean anything more unlike all the reasons people like to attach to it. People have become too attached to their lives and the feeling of not being able to do it again scares them. The truth is, everything is ending and beginning as we speak, as you read. The sun will never rise the same way again, the shoes you slip on will not be as sturdy as it was previously and the air you take in isn’t the same as what you’ve been inhaling the entire night. to have something end, it also allows other things to start, and in my humble opinion (being a mere speck of nothing in the world), is the kindest act one can do. It is to sacrifice everything you’ve loved and built, all so someone else can experience it. Even if you don’t know them, the potential and way that they will come to view and live the same amount of life you have had, is amazing. It is the beginning of another small speck of light in the sky, replacing a dying star. But people forget that and cling onto their life like it’s nothing, but another truth is, that you will have done everything you need to by the end of it all. That the content that you have is within you and even if it feels like the universe isn’t enough to satisfy you, I think the act of breathing and feeling the air seep through you is enough. Living is enough. So the paranoia of dying continues and I cannot help but silently swallow my wish along with my tea, that I look forward to my end. I am, greatly satisfied with everything that I have done, even if it has been abandoned halfway. This life was always a journey, and I’m just one to take it’s path. The path, where I can hopefully at the end, allow someone to live as fantastic a life as I have.


	4. I realise what's not ok

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i was eating breakfast when it struck me at once

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's just a lot of things that made me think about it this way sorry if it doesn't make any sense, it's just me ranting really, i don't wanna elaborate right now

Eating had never been so difficult when my thoughts had filled my head that spread to my stomach rather than the food I had decided to put in my mouth. It was ironic, the scene of normality of a family of 3 eating together at a typical asian breakfast table. For the past 18 years I had no idea why or how it always felt empty, or something a little off like your entire house’s furniture had been shifted off by a couple of centimetres and no one could quite tell why it looked “wrong”. Nothing was normal, not the way my dad spoke, not the way my mom sat there to eat, nothing. I felt cheated, like life had given me a disservice. Everyday or every time this happened my dad wasn’t there; he wasn’t present. He was never present, his mind wondering off somewhere while he ignores a meaningful conversation with his wife. The wife has ignored this and gotten used to it. They pretend it’s normal, that they would never talk so much over a meal. There is no thank you, the mother talks, the father talks, all the issues and little peeks of weirdness has even carefully ignored. That’s what irked me. They couldn’t face that their child wasn’t normal, the father’s lack of appreciation and presence, more like a ghost in the family. Mother’s ability to feel like she owes and owns a favour (not to say that she is entitled). That made me think it was normal, it wasn’t it never is. like a fucking freak show still being sold off as a circus act. That ability to lie and tell make me believe the lie was the truth. That’s what irked me. I hated it, I still hate it. Perhaps they didn’t know. Perhaps they never will. And perhaps they shouldn’t. Then I shouldn’t have been born, shouldn’t be placed in this. It’s too late to ask life to do me a favour, and it always is, because life doesn’t owe mw anything as much as I owe it something. Life is just a word tossed to be hated at due to being unlucky enough to realise what privileges you should have been granted as a right. With that in mind… all of that in mind.. I left the meal. My head bursting and stomach full, I was done.


End file.
